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by
Eric
Mader-Lin
I.
Jane is eleven years old.
What kind of girl is she? She is a Taipei girl. What kind of Taipei girl is
she? She is a smart Taipei girl. What kind of smart Taipei girl is she? She is
a slightly erratic smart Taipei girl with short, boyish hair and a slightly
erratic mother with short, boyish hair.
Jane studies English. But not today. Today
she's heading to the candy store.
Jane is walking on the sidewalk. Her
classmate Mary sees her.
"Hello, Jane," Mary says.
"Pig," Jane says.
"How are you today?"
"Pig."
"Hm!" snaps Mary. "Maybe
you should see a psychiatrist."
"Okay," Jane says.
"Pig!"
Jane is walking on the sidewalk. Her classmate Shawn
sees her. She tries to avoid Shawn. She skedaddles. She gets sidetracked down
an alley. She runs, Jane does. But Shawn runs to catch her up.
"Jane!" he cries.
"Pig."
"Jane, I love you! I have always
loved you."
"Pig."
"What can we do, Jane? What can we
do? Where can we go from here? Perhaps," Shawn says, seizing Jane's arm,
"perhaps I ought to compare you to a summer's day, except that you are
more lovely and more temperate--which means mild, Jane. In colder, northern
climates, rough winds often shake the first buds that come out in May, and the
summertime that follows is quite short, you know, usually about three months.
The sun in summer can sometimes shine so burning hot that it tarnishes itself,
and then fall will come sooner. Likewise all beautiful girls will eventually
become less beautiful. This happens either because of some accident, or simply
because nature eventually wears down their looks through the process of aging.
But you, Jane, your beauty will last forever. And even when you're dead no one
will be able to think of you that way because of this story being written about
us, being written right now as we speak. Yes, Jane, as long as such stories as
this are read by people who had some slight appreciation for Donald Barthelme's
work, for just so long and no less will your life be dragged on and on in the
meeting of ink and eye."
"Pig," says Jane, pulling her
arm from the assailant's grasp.
Jane is walking on the sidewalk. She's heading to the candy store. But
she forgets about that. She gets on a bus.
"Twelve dollars please," the
driver says.
"Pig."
"I'm sorry," the driver says in
Mandarin. "I don't speak English. Twelve dollars."
"Pig."
"You have to pay when you get on the
bus."
"Pig."
Jane sits down without paying.
The bus drives on and on, tracing a large
loop about the smallish airport, swinging past the French department store,
skirting the neighborhood where taxi drivers live and the crime rate is high.
Jane watches the scenes change through the
window. One might guess that there's only one word in her mind as she watches
these scenes. But no: there are no words in Jane's mind.
The bus stops outside a village. Jane gets
off with an old lady. She runs past the old lady toward a field. There is a
goose farm there. She passes the goose far. There is a little stand that sells
betel nut with two men who both think illicit thoughts as they watch her go by.
Finally there is a pig sty.
Jane stops at the fence
and looks at the pig, wondering what it was that she'd been thinking.
"Pig," Jane says, then bursts
out laughing. "Pig, pig, pig, pig, pig!"
Although the pig is not a Taipei pig, it
is not without learning even so. "Jane," it says to the girl.
"Jane."
"Pig."
"Jane."
"Pig."
"Jane."
"Pig!"
"No, Jane!"
"No, pig!"
And this is how the story ends.
* * *
II.
--I.--
He was a headless boy in a roofless house with a
brainless mother and a useless computer. The computer was useless because the
house was roofless and the rain came in and shorted it out. The house was
roofless because the mother was brainless and she enjoyed the sun. The mother
was brainless, having been raised in the habitus she was raised in, as
Bourdieu says.
--II.--
The headless boy went to a classless school.
The school had no class because it had no classes. The classless school had a
bookless library. Oral culture was in vogue, and digital culture was catching
on.
The boy got to his school on a tireless
bike. The bike was slow, and it gave a sort of gravelly sound, being tireless.
The boy was headless, and often got dismayed, or displayed, or displaced, or
misprised. He often got lost is what. The bike did the boy's homework for him,
being tireless in the other sense too. A Schwinn it was, very reliable.
--III.--
A powerless principal fed his eyeless fish in a
waterless pond. He stood some ways from the school, as the story tells.
The
boy was fearless. He approached.
"What is that grinding, / As of the wheels
of progress / Off the rails?" quoth the principal.
"It's my bike, sir," quoth the
boy.
"Leave me be! My fish are
ailing," quoth the principal.
"I am friendless, sir. I come to
you."
"Ye are a headless boy. The others
will be ruthless."
"Respect is what I crave, sir.
Respect."
A moment passed between them, soundless.
Even the fish were still, there in their dust.
"I know," quoth the principal
finally, "I know a nameless girl with a hairless. . ."--he gestured
to the sky, seeking the word--"a hairless . . . "
"Dog?"
"Yes, dog. She will bring you the
respect and love you need."
The headless boy set off to find the girl.
--IV.--
Years later, after harried and fruitless quest,
the boy stood at a door.
"I'm here for . . . "
"She's up in her room," quoth
the crone. "Come in."
The room was on a second floor. The
hairless dog followed the boy up the stairs. The door having been attained, it
was pushed open. The hairless dog having run to the side of the nameless girl,
she turned to the door.
Unsure how to break the ice, the boy stood
silent for a moment, finally trying a wink. But the wink was without affect,
for our hero was headless, as the story tells.
"So you're here," said the girl.
"Finally."
"It's true," said the boy.
"I've made it."
Through the half-open window a ray of
sunlight highlighted a swirl of dust motes over the bare wood floor. The dog
gave a puff of impatience, having practiced for this part too many times
already. Standing, the girl snapped a comb down sharply on her dresser.
"Your accomplishments?" she
asked, also sharply.
"I . . ." the boy began.
"Well . . ."
"Your accomplishments?" the girl
repeated. "Come, now. List them."
"I . . . I've found you, haven't
I?" the boy brought out meekly.
"That ain't much, to tell the
truth," the nameless girl said with some cruelty, sweeping a lock of hair
off her brow. "There's many a lad before you has found this old
place."
Nonplussed our boy stood, unseeing of the
swirl of motes or of the dog, hairless there on the wood.
"But think of the long road,"
the boy began after a moment, "the tireless rims on the rough gravel.
Think of the hatless days in the hot sun, and rain streaming down the
gullet."
"Hm!" the girl said.
"Many a time heard I the terrible
squeal of tires approach, and the yell of drivers enraged, for I'd missed the
red light that should have made me halt."
"You missed the light?"
"Yes. For I am a headless boy, and
couldn't see the traffic lights, whether red or green. I didn't see the red
light, / So drivers saw red, / And the red of my blood nearly stained the streets."
"That's alliterative verse you're
speaking. It's poetic."
The hairless dog, resigned, lowered its
head onto outstretched paws, signaling either assent or disagreement.
"I am a headless boy from a roofless
house with a useless computer. It was no good trying to make web pages, I can
tell you that. For solace, I came to a powerless man perched on a sea of dust.
He uttered your name, and I sought you."
"You're wrong there, I reckon."
"He gave me your namelessness, and I
sought you out."
"So you did. And
now. . . ?"
"The absence of your name--it called
to me. I spoke its void each night before sleep. I repeated it, over and
over."
There was quiet in the room, still as the
dog.
"You repeated the absence of my
name?" asked the girl. "Hm. Did you really?"
"I did. On a moonless night, sprawled
at the edge of a treeless land, I repeated the absence of your name, and it
sustained me, it kept me to the road."
"That's very poetic. Have you ever
read Derrida?"
"No, I haven't. I went to a school
with a bookless library. Oral culture was in vogue there, and digital culture
was just catching on."
"Never mind Derrida then. Never mind
him. I'm yours, you know. I'm yours always already."
"Mine?" the boy replied, taken
aback by her sudden warmth. "You are really mine? A headless boy?"
"Yes. The truth is I've waited for
you. I've been waiting all along."
"So . . . ?"
"So take me in your arms, fool. Kiss
me!"
"I will," the boy said. "I
will take you in my arms at least. That part I can do."
So the headless boy and the nameless girl
lived happily ever after. This is where the story ends.
* * *
III.
[This unfinished tale was composed according
to an Oulipian constraint, one I've called "Alphabet Squared." In Alphabet Squared, each successive
word in the tale must begin with the successive letter of the alphabet. Thus one sees that the first letters of
the six words of the first sentence are A, B, C, D, E, F. And the next sentence begins with a
word starting with G, and so on.
Ideally, in Alphabet Squared, the alphabet
would be run through 26 times.
In writing this tale I also came upon the
"Zuckermannism." A
Zuckermannism would be a 26-word axiom or observation beginning with an A-word
and ending with a Z-word. A
correct Zuckermannism reads as a single sentence. One goal in the Zuckermannism would be to hide the
constraint: i.e., the sentence reads well and the observation or axiom appears
true.
The best English introduction to the
literary movement OULIPO is the work linked at the bottom of this page. --E.M.-L.]
--I.--
Alphabet Boy came down every Friday:
"God Himself is just! Kings love
money!"
Naturally our priest quarreled, redfaced,
speaking thus: "Undeniably vicious words, xenophobic yummering,
Zuckermannism!" (Alphabet Boy's character didn't endear fathers.) "Go
humbly into Jesus' Kingdom! Leave men nothing. Oppress paupers, question royalty
seldom. These underlie virtuous works."
Xenophobic yummering, Zoe . . . . Alphabet
Boy couldn't drop every folly. Going holy invariably just kindled lust. Men never
operated purely. Queens received squires. Teenage ushers, vivified, watched.
--II.--
"Xerxes!" yelled Zoe.
A bushy-coated dog entered faltering.
Giving him iodized jerky kebobs lessened malign neurological outbreaks. Perhaps
questioning recent studies that usually vilified wobbly Xerxes, young Zoe
ascertained by computer diverse easily fabricated genetic head implants. (Just
kidding. Love may not often provide quick results.)
Said the usual vet: "Why Xerxes,
young Zoe?"
Alphabet Boy's cancerous dog easily felled
girlish hearts. Indeed, just kindness lent meaning: not organized polemics, questions
rigorously settled, the usual Vatican wording.
--III.--
Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann always bought
chronicles detailing early French gnosis. His inestimable juridical knowledge
left many neophyte opponents puzzled.
"Questioning rightly stuns the usual
victors."
Wise Xavier's young Zoe, a beautiful
caring daughter, eventually found gnosticism helpful.
"Inflexible jesuitical knowledge led
me nowhere."
Other people questioned researching such
thick, usually vindictive works.
"Xavier, your Zohar
article, besides carefully defending early French gnosticism, has inevitably
jeopardized Kabbalistic learning."
"My new organizational principles
quixotically respect several theories usually valued."
Wily Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann
aphabetically braided Cathar doctrines, extant French geomancies, Hebrew
indexes, jurisprudence, Kabbalah, Laporte, Mencius, nouns, old Psalters,
Quintilian, rare Sethian texts, unverified Valentinian works, Xenophon, Yeats,
Zoroaster.
"Albigensian Bogomils? Catharist
dispensationalism?"
Each February gathering his indignant
Jewish Kollegen launched magazines, newspaper obituaries, periodicals,
questionnaires, reviews, satire--the usual violent works Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann
afterwards belittled.
"Can decent Europeans forget
gnosticism's hermeneutic import? Just Kabbalist learning may never open portals
quietly resistant."
--IV.--
Surreptitiously teaching unutterable
Valentinian words, Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann attracted boyish collegiate
disciples. Entering Friday's group, hierophiles included Jews, Kurds, lapsed
Moldavian nuns, obsessive Poles. Questioning recent sermons that used viciously
wise X.Y. Zuckermann, Alphabet Boy's curiosity dawned, eliciting further
gyrations, heightening intense Jungian know-how, lubricating mechanisms never
operated previously.
Quickly responding to these unusual
visions, whitehaired Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann allowed Boy's coming down.
Effectively fomenting gnosis, he inspired jouissance, kindled luxuriant
Messianisms, nullified ordinary prudence. Qabbalah's recent student
thoughtlessly uttered vocalisms witnessing X.Y. Zuckermann's affect:
"Bishops can't dance!"
[efghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcd]
Erfuhrt's Father General, Hieronymus Ignatius
Jakobus Kuhnt, looked menacing near our protagonist:
"Quiet, rogue!"
Sitting tensely under Vatican watch, X.Y.
Zuckermann announced bravely: "Christmas Day eleven foreign gurus
hospitably invited Junker Karl Ludwig.
Making nothing of piety, Queen Regina stooped to ululating vedas.
Why?"
X.Y. Zuckermann alleged Buddhist
conniving. Daring even further, Germany's Hockilluminatus implied Jesuits kept
laundered monies.
"Never," our priest quoth,
redfaced, "shall this upstart villainous wretch, Xavier Judensis
Zuckermannus. . ."
After blushing conspicuously, dreaded
Erfuhrt Father General Hieronymus, index jutting, killing latinisms masticated
neatly, ordered priest Quirinus' reserve. Soon the ushers vacated with Xavier
Yehudi Zuckermann.
--V.--
Alphabet Boy carefully deduced evidence.
Foreign gurus had invested Juleps, Kronen, Louis, Marks. Not only pursuing
questionable rights, some Tibetans undid virgin waifs.
"Xian yogis, Zenmasters, Astroplaning
Buddhist Chinese, Displaced Egyptian Fakirs--go home! It's Jesus' kindly love
men need. Our people's quick resistance shall thwart unscrupulous
visionaries!"
Were Xian yogic Zenmasters alarmed?
Barely. Credit diversions expedited further geomantic hijinx. Iniquitous
Jesuits kept luxurious mansions. Necromancing orientals pounced quim. Respected
statesmen took unusual vows, writing Xian yogic Zen albas. Buddhistic courts
dispensed eternal (fallaciously grounded, hopelessly inept) justice. Killings
left many nervous. Our protagonist, qua renegade, sensed these unspeakable
violations wearied Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann.
--VI.--
Alphabet Boy's Catholicism didn't entail fondling
gentry. Hawking insurrectionary journals, keeping late meetings nightly, our
protagonist quarreled righteously. Such toils, unusually violent, worried
xylophonist--yes--Zoe. Alphabet Boy confessed dropping elementary French.
"Germans have invoked Jesus! King
Ludwig must now officiate piously, quit resisting sacraments."
Taking up various wet xeroxes, young Zoe
answered, belligerent: "Can dissertators ever finally gain higher
intelligence? Karl's letting men near our properties! Quit resisting
stupidly!"
(The unscrupulous version: wise X.Y.
Zuckermann allowed Bohemia's counterfeiters domicile, expecting forthcoming
guilders held in just kind.)
[lmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijk]
Never order persecutions, Queen. Rather stay tolerant,
uniquely virtuous woman!
--X.Y.Z.
1.
Although boys can derive excitement from
girlish hips, in Jewish Kabbalism learned men near opening portals quietly
resisting sacral thoughts uneducated vulgarians wield. --X.Y.Z.
2.
All blindfolded Confucian dunces exist for
God's hilarity.
3.
Illumination!
4.
Jewish kings learn Maimonides, never oppose
psychoanalysis.
5.
"Quintilian rhetoric," said
Tertullian, "urges vicious works." Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann agrees.
6.
Barons can't disguise even faint gout.
7.
Having ignored Jesuits, Karl Ludwig might not
order persecutions.
8.
Questioning rightly stuns the usual victors.
[wxyzabcdefghijklmn] oulipian
[pqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
abcde] Falun-Gong having infiltrated
[jklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijklmnopqr]
Southern Taiwan University Vice Regent Wong
[xyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzab]
Canada Dry
[efghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz] All belatedly cried
denunciations.
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abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz]
Assorted Bahai conspiritors demonstrated early
Friday.
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abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz]
Our protagonist, quite revolted, strikes the
unschooled vicar well.
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with Xerxes, Yiddish Zoe, and Bill.
[cdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
abcdefghijklmnopqr] Steiner's thesis
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abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
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abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz]
Alleging brutality, certain demonstrators even
fired guns!
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Alphabet Boy came down every Friday, giving
himself in jest.
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oulipo
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K. Logan's monograph
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abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
abcdefghijklmn]
ourselves
[pqrstuvw]
Xavier Yehudi Zuckermann.
View
the Amazon.com information on Harry Matthew's OULIPO COMPENDIUM.
Email: inthemargins03@hotmail.com
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